Young, pretty things
by Irishsodabread
Summary: But she wasn’t a child, in the eyes of the law, he reasoned often. She was of age. But that didn’t make it right. She was his godson’s best friend; and she had captured him so. He didn't love her. But he wanted her.
1. Default Chapter

Pretty young things

A Jaded man sits alone in an empty room; his dark hair is hanging in his face, hiding the despair etched within his eyes. But what he cannot hide, to his dismay, is his lurid complexion. Every ounce of sadness and heartache that had come across his path within the last fourteen years could clearly be seen. His history is filled with death, betrayal, and punishment; punishment that was decadence full of pain and torture. Redemption was his sanction now, after fleeing the harsh confines of prison. And while he was happy that he was living in a house full of friends and his godson, his heart was petulant as one would expect from a man who spent the best years of his life within a four walled cell.

Prison left hurts that ran far too deep to be mended. He would never speak of the trails he had endured while living in that virtual hell, because reliving it would be far too painful. And while he tried to forget, how do you go back to your old life, when you saw way too much? Some pains just go too deep, and take hold.

His weary bones ached, though he was not that old. His skin crawled and he tried to soothe it. He would never speak of this.

He wasn't sick.

His mind screamed at him, howling and echoing within the crevices of his mind. He wanted to forget.

He hated himself.

And then, there was this girl. This brown headed beauty that entered his life not 3 years ago. She was young then, and still is, but nonetheless caught his attention. And when he caught himself admiring her, for her body and eyes, he reprimanded himself.

She was too young.

But as a man, he reasoned, it was only natural to admire a young lady when around. But she was merely 16, nothing more than a child.

But she wasn't a child, in the eyes of the law, he reasoned often. She was of age. But that didn't make it right. She was his godson's best friend; and she had captured him so.

He didn't love her.

But he wanted her.

How do you like this? Should i continue?

Review reveiw review


	2. Blue

Authors Note: I don't leave disclaimers because they're pointless. I'm not J.K Rowling.

Sorry for the short first chapter. It was just a test of sorts. Sorry, also, for the tenses. I tend to switch a lot. I'll try not to. The thing is, is that I test each kind to see which one feels comfortable for the story.

They'll switch from time to time.

Sirius to Hermione I guess.

And maybe some innocent bystander. I don't know.

_He didn't love her_

_But he wanted her._

"Sirius?" A soft voice broke his train of thought, and he had to take his unfocused stare off of the window to turn towards the brown-eyed beauty that was behind him. He already knew that voice.

"Yes." He says stoically.

"Dinner's going to be ready in five minutes. Mrs. Weasley made pot roast." He can feel her hand on the back of his chair.

"It sounds delicious, as everything Molly makes is. But I'm afraid I'm going to have to pass." He fixes his stare back out the window

"Why?" She sits herself down on the arm rest of his comfy chair. He could feel her body heat.

"Not hungry." He swallowed.

There was silence for a moment and he could hear her breathing. He tried not to look at her, but her leg was inches from his.

"Sirius, what's wrong?" She breathed

"Nothings wrong."

"Yes there is. You're not yourself lately." She said.

He was tempted to say that he hadn't been himself for sixteen years.

"And how would you know if I'm acting like myself or not?" He asked

"I know you. You don't isolate yourself like this from the others."

She obviously didn't know him at all.

He took his steely gaze from the window and moved it up towards the girl near him. This was supposed to be a stolen glance for himself. He wasn't expecting her eyes to meet his.

She blushed, and looked down at the floor. She looked so young, so chased and innocent.

He shouldn't have been thinking of her the way he was before. She was merely a child.

He got up, suddenly uncomfortable at the close proximity of her body. He didn't want to think of her that way again.

But at that moment, when he lifted his bottom out of the chair and rose to full height, Hermione got up and touched his forearm.

"If you need to talk, I'm here." She whispered. He nodded and brushed past her, trying to ignore the feeling of her touching him.

He went to his room, trying to push the thoughts of her fingers out of his mind. Her touching him made him weak.

He was a weak man.

It had been a long time.

It had been too long of a time and guilt immediately washed over him for longing for the touch of not a woman, but a child.

But she was a woman.

He closed his eyes, grasping the bridge of his nose. He was beginning to get a headache.

He laid himself down on the lumpy mattress with the tattered blanket.

Slumber enveloped him.

_00000_

_" You're__ a sick pathetic sod Black! I'ma make you squeal like a fucken little pig." _

_"Die Motherfucker" _

_"Black, you like it don't you, you sick fuck?_

_Die motherfucker!_

_Murderer_

_You deserve what you get you sick fuck. _

_I'm going to slit your fucken throat while you sleep black_

_You know you like it Black. And you know how I like it when you scream._

000

His body jolted, waking him from his sleep. He was breathing heavy, cold sweat coated his chest. The hissing continued within his head.

Before he knew what he was doing, his feet connected with the floor and he went for the door.

The hall was empty, the moonlight streaming from a window at the end. His headache hadn't subsided.

As if in a trance he turned the corner, past Ron and Harry's bedroom and Ginny's own room. Molly's snoring from down the hall filled his ears. He bit back the screams in his head. They were getting louder.

His hand grasped a door knob, the metal cooling his sweaty palm. The hissing and screaming in his head unbearable, making every crevice ache and twist with torment. He twisted the doorknob and opened the door.

He entered.

And suddenly there was silence.

000

How do you think?And all this from a fashion magazine article titled "Young, pretty things." I like this story so far, so I think I'll keep it, though I don't know how long it will be. I have to keep up with my other stories though, so when I get to this, I get to this. I'm not going to rush.

Review, I'll update again sooner……………

Later kiddo,

Irishsodabread


	3. Armor for sleep

A/N: I'm writing this fairly quickly…I don't know why.

_He didn't love her_

_But he wanted her._

And suddenly there was silence.

All that was there to meet his blurred vision was the pristine image of a girl, asleep. He stood there stock still, and stared. She looked so small, fragile. Her eyes fluttered underneath their lids. He breathed softly into the lightly chilled air.

His pajamas stuck to his skin as he took a step towards her still figure. Sweat dripped down his back.

"Sirius?" A small voice called out into the dark

She wasn't a deep sleeper apparently

He didn't answer her. His eyes shifted towards the window, it was a clear night out.

He could tell by her steady breathing that she wasn't nervous or scared. She rarely was. She was just concerned.

Every sound around him, if any, seemed muffled as he sat down on her bed. She gave him a questioning stare as his hand went to her face, softly touching her cheek. His breath caught in his throat at the softness of her skin.

He wasn't supposed to be touching her; he thought has his hand glided down to her neck.

But he continued, his hand remaining on her neck for a moment, his thumb moving in slow circles.

Her breath was soft against his chin as he quickly leaned in. His lips captured hers, and from then on there was no looking back.

His hands glided down her body effortlessly. She sighed. He licked her lips. Every nerve in his body was exploding with excitement and urgency.

He kissed her neck, her small fingers tangled in his hair. Her body was soft; and his full of despair. ( ha that rhymed!)

He could not believe what he was doing. His fingers grazed her thigh.

He should stop.

She sighed.

His mouth captured hers again; muffling his guilt with the lush of her skin.

He hated himself.

She was just a child.

And he was taking advantage.

But for once in a long while, it was quiet.

The next morning, he woke early and walked silently to his bed. She was still blissfully asleep, comforter covering her still clothed body.

He didn't give her a second glance when he left.

The sun was slowly rising, and he could hear the muffled waking of Mrs. Weasley just down the hall. He tried to ignore the fact that his ears were ringing with guilt. He closed his eyes tight, shutting out the light, and tried to let himself be encumbered with sleep.

It took a while.

When he woke from a dreamless sleep, he figured it was around 12 in the afternoon. The sun wasn't shining anymore, and he could hear the patter of rain outside his window. He got dressed, washed up and stepped out into the world he was so reluctant to encounter.

But a part of him felt relieved.

He was free of his desire. He wouldn't be weak any longer. He was finally his own man.

She sent him warm glances and smiles the rest of the day, though in complete secrecy, her warm eyes staring right through him.

He ignored her glances and continued on with his day as if nothing had ever happened between them

And never looked back at her.

Note: How do you like? Good, bad, so so? Sorry it took so damn long to update.. I'm incredibly lazy. I'm not sure if I should make it out as if they had sex in the next chapter, or just kissed. I'd rather just kissing, and then have it later escalate into sex, but it's your call.

Sirius is creepy here, just the way I like it…

Yours sincerely,

The lazy bread


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